Timothy Zahn - Conquerors' Pride

Holloway locked eyes with him. "If I were you, Mr. McPhee," he said quietly, "I wouldn't be too quick to start shoveling blame. People who suddenly appear in a war zone with absurd cover stories shouldn't be surprised when they attract official scrutiny. Whatever this imagined fallout of yours might be—"

"Imagined fallout?" McPhee cut him off. "You know, that's just the sort of asinine statement that shows you really haven't the faintest idea what's going on here."

"I'm acutely aware of that," Holloway countered, trying hard to hold on to his temper. He could put up with politicians who fumbled around in military circles without a clue what they were doing. Politicians who insisted on frosting their ignorance with arrogance drove him nearly homicidal. "I trust you are aware that if you'd presented your credentials at the outset, my officers and I would have made every attempt to cooperate with you."

"Oh, certainly," McPhee shot back. "Present my credentials, and have the whole garrison buzzing with rumors. That would certainly have been helpful."

Holloway took a careful breath, putting all his strength into not saying what he so badly wanted to say. To suggest that his men had nothing better to do than sit around discussing what some hotshot data-pusher from Earth might be up to... "If you don't mind," he said, "I think we'll put the rest of this conversation on hold until Major Takara has finished his examination of your credentials. I'm sure Parlimin VanDiver would prefer we handle things by the book."

McPhee didn't answer, but the look on his face promised that he would remember this when the time came for reprimands. Sitting in the middle of a war zone, Holloway found it difficult to care.

The awkward silence seemed much longer than the few minutes it actually took Takara to return. "It's genuine, sir," he told Holloway, handing the carte blanche back across the desk. "There are five separate confirmations; all five checked out."

"Thank you," Holloway said, resisting the temptation to flip the card back across to McPhee the way the other had thrown it to him. "All right, Mr. McPhee, you are who you say. Now, what exactly is it you want from us?"

"What I wanted was for you to stick to your own work and leave me alone," the other said stiffly. "But since you've now effectively shredded my mission, I'll just have to settle for your confiscating that Counterpunch and fueler out there."

Holloway threw a glance at Melinda Cavanagh, sitting there quietly, her face unreadable. "I don't understand."

"What part didn't I make clear?" McPhee asked sardonically. "The part about confiscation, or the specific ships involved?"

Takara half rose from his seat. "Colonel—"

Holloway waved him back down. "Just a minute, Major."

"Colonel, this is important—"

"You heard the Colonel," McPhee snapped, throwing him a glare. "Shut up." He swiveled the glare onto Holloway. "I was ordered by Parlimin Jacy VanDiver to look into allegations that the Cavanagh family was conspiring to commit illegal activities. I'd originally hoped to ferret out what specifically they were up to, but thanks to your meddling that chance is gone. Still, illegal possession of Peacekeeper property ought to be enough to put the whole bunch of them under arrest."

"It's not Peacekeeper property," Melinda Cavanagh spoke up, her first words since the meeting had began. "Both ships and all the supplies are privately owned."

"What about the Corvines on their way in?" Holloway asked her.

"Corvines?" McPhee demanded. "Where? How many?"

"Colonel, they're gone," Takara called, clearly determined this time to make himself heard. "Both of them."

"Both?" Holloway frowned. "I thought there were six of them."

"Not the Corvines," Takara gritted. "Cavanagh and Quinn and their ships. They lifted while I was checking Mr. McPhee's credentials."

For a heartbeat McPhee just sat there, his mouth half-open. "What?" he breathed.

And then, abruptly, he bounded from his chair. "What?" he all but screamed. "What blithering—?" He jabbed a finger at Holloway. "Get them back. Now. "

Holloway had already keyed his comm. "Gasperi, what's the status on that Counterpunch and fueler that just lifted?"

"Lift was clean, Colonel," Gasperi said, his gaze flicking across the status board outside the range of Holloway's display. "No problems."

"Are you in contact with them?"

"No, sir, they've already cleared the horizon. Should be back in range in about an hour."

"What about the Corvines?" McPhee demanded at Holloway's side. "Can you raise them?"

"No, they're also out of sight line," Gasperi said, frowning uncertainly at McPhee. "Colonel, Major Takara okayed the lift."

"Yes, I know," Holloway assured him, thinking hard. "What about the incoming skitter? Is it in sight line with either the Corvines or the Counterpunch?"

"Not sight line, no," Gasperi said. "Might have enough diffraction bend to get a signal to them, though."

"Give it a try," Holloway said. "Have them inform Commander Quinn and Aric Cavanagh that they're to bring their ships back to ground immediately and to make themselves available for questioning."

McPhee snorted. "You don't really expect them to comply, do you?"

Holloway ignored him. "And get Number Two crash-prepped to fly. I want it in the sky in fifteen minutes."

"Yes, sir," Gasperi said, keying in the order. "Sir, we've also just picked up a new tachyon wake-trail coming in toward the system. Baseline identifies it as an Effenzeal-Royce star yacht. ETA about two hours."

Holloway looked at Melinda Cavanagh. "Yours?"

"My father's."

He nodded and looked back at the comm. "Keep an eye on it," he told Gasperi. "And get that skitter in the air."

"Yes, sir."

"You'll be wasting your time," Melinda Cavanagh advised as he keyed off the comm. "They'll be gone before the skitter can reach them."

"It's our time to waste, thank you," Holloway said. "I take it there's not much chance we'll find Wing Commander Bokamba aboard that ship?"

She shook her head silently. "Terrific," Holloway growled, keying the comm back on. "Gasperi, what's the status on that skitter relay?"

"Sorry, sir," the other said. "There's no response. The signal's probably not getting to them."

"What about Number Two?"

"Still being prepped, sir. It'll be another few minutes."

Holloway clenched his fist beneath the desk. "We may not have a few minutes," he said. "Move it."

"Yes, sir," Gasperi said, starting to look a little frazzled. "I'll have the—"

He broke off, turning his head to the side. Another voice said something, and Holloway saw Gasperi wince. "What?" he demanded.

"Sorry, sir," Gasperi said, turning back. "The fueler's just meshed out. From the wake-trail it looks like the Corvines went with it."

"And the Counterpunch, too, no doubt," Holloway sighed. "All right. Secure from launch prep on Number Two. Everyone back to normal."

"Yes, sir."

Holloway keyed off the comm and turned to Melinda Cavanagh. "Congratulations," he said, hearing an edge of bitterness in his voice. "You and your brother seem to have gotten away with it. Whatever 'it' is."

He had the minor satisfaction of seeing a flicker of pain cross her face. "I'm sorry, Colonel," she said. "Our intention wasn't to get you or anyone else in trouble."

"Well, you've succeeded in that, too," he told her. "Under the circumstances I think you owe me an explanation as to what's going on."

"Again, I'm sorry," she said, looking at McPhee. "Under the Official Secrets Regulations I'm not allowed to talk about it." A faint smile twitched at her lips. "All I can say is that you're partly to blame for getting the whole thing started."

Holloway frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"